Hank Aaron and the Other Guy

A homerun of alleged significance was hit this evening. The whole thing saddens me to such an extent that I'm at a loss for words. So I'm going to let some of the great baseball writers at ESPN do the talking for me:

I've never been comfortable with the knee-jerk label of "cheater" to describe every athlete who stretches the moral boundaries for an edge. Willie Mays liked red juice, Pete Rose took "greenies" to lose weight, and Barry Bonds, we're told, used performance-enhancing drugs because he was jealous of Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. Pass around the truth serum, and you'll find it's not a very exclusive club. Was Bonds' decision regrettable? Sure. Did it tarnish his achievements? I'll buy that. But the lure of public acceptance, money or immortality can entice men to do strange things. When we're talking about drug use in relation to NFL linemen, Tour de France participants or home run hitters, we can be awfully selective with our outrage. Personally, I'm as put off by Bonds' lack of human relations skill as the contents of his medicine cabinet. Few athletes in history have been as consistently boorish, joyless, self-absorbed or seemingly oblivious to the impression they create. Yes, we know Bonds has emotional baggage. But does the rest of the world constantly have to lug it around for him? Record-setting runs are as much about the warm feelings and enduring memories they generate as the numbers in the Baseball Encyclopedia. If we can't embrace Bonds because of his personality and we can't admire him because of the short cuts he took, why should anybody care that he's baseball's home run champion? The answer is, lots of people don't. Now that Bonds has No. 756 in the bank, most folks outside San Francisco wish he would just pack up his bats and size 8 hats and go away. Are you happy with that legacy, Barry?

-- Jerry Crasnick

The record book may now indicate Barry Bonds is the new home run king. But that doesn't mean fans -- both outside and inside the game -- have to recognize Bonds' spot above Hank Aaron. The beauty baseball has always maintained over other sports is accountability in the fans' perspective. You can trust your eyes in baseball. An error is an error. A missed bunt attempt is just that. What you see is, well, what you see. A pitcher who is throwing 88 mph at the end of one season and is magically hitting 98 on the gun the next spring? That's just not humanly possible, at least not without some form of help. Same goes for home run hitters, and Bonds tops this list. Not just because the only time he ever hit more than 49 home runs was when he reached 73 in 2001, but also because of the numerous allegations that Bonds used chemical help to reach late-career highs. Whether baseball or its fans want to admit it, these last 15 years will forever be viewed as the steroids era. Some say Bonds is being unfairly picked on. Maybe, but remember, the lab he used, BALCO, was the one the federal government raided. Bonds' name was front and center in the BALCO investigation and it's front and center among a large faction that simply does not believe he is the new home run king.

-- Pedro Gomez

I will acknowledge Barry Bonds for what he has done: hit more home runs than anyone in history. It is a fascinating accomplishment, one that's worthy, on some level, of celebration. We have never taken records away in baseball history, and we should not take this one away unless we're prepared to take away a whole bunch of records and achievements during this era. We shouldn't put an asterisk next to it, either. There already is -- and always will be -- an imaginary asterisk next to this era. We should do what baseball has always done with its records and controversies: attach a story to them, and then let our best baseball fans -- they believe something fishy went on here -- decide how to recognize this achievement. As for Hank Aaron, he no longer will have the most home runs of anyone in history, but his legacy will not be lessened. Bonds' chase has given us another chance to celebrate the greatness of Aaron's career, and the strength of his purpose. His legacy might even be strengthened because, as far as we know, he hit 755 home runs naturally, legally and honestly.

-- Tim Kurkjian

The biggest tragedy of the steroids era is that it has robbed us of the magic -- the magic of the greatest numbers in sports. People used to walk down Main Street -- in your town, in any town -- and hear those numbers rattling around their brains. They knew what 60 meant. And 61. And 714. And 755. They weren't just baseball numbers. They were milestones from our entire culture. You didn't have to be some geeky baseball fan to know them. Women and kids and grandmothers knew them. They were numbers so powerful, you could hear the home run calls in your head if you listened hard enough. No other sport had any numbers like them. And no one should ever underestimate the importance of that. It's because of what those numbers used to mean that No. 756 and the man who hit it are still enough to make that home run a momentous news event. But it's what we've lost that's the bigger story, to me. We've lost the ability to witness these moments and hear our hearts thumping, or feel our emotions flowing. Too many people now are cynical about what just happened and why it happened for these numbers to feel the same again. And not just 756. All of them.

-- Jayson Stark

Whew, I feel beter already.

A Suggestion

Inspired by the prospect of another weekend in the woods of Mississippi battling orcs and dragons, I simply wish to suggest that perhaps the reader do something they would not normally.

It just makes life fucking better.

When you're done, perhaps you could leave a little note describing the fun you had? Just a thought.

I'm Giddy

I'm going to be a part owner in a professional sports team. Some of you might have received an email from me a little while back regarding a chance to purchase part of an English soccer team and already have an idea of what I'm talking about. For those of you who did not or simply deleted without reading, let me explain.

A group of guys in England got together and decided it would be really neat if they did something similar to what the Green Bay Packers did when they first formed up: have a team owned by Average Joe's. They figured they would need about 50,000 people paying around 75 dollars, U.S. in order to make a bid on a lower-level club. So, they started their own website trying to sign up the target number. It got out in the media and low and behold 53,000+ registered. So, yesterday, they began to take payments from everyone, and I was one of them.

But the really big news is that four teams have already approached the group about a possible takeover. This means that I'm essentially a hair's breadth away owning part of a football club. The excitement is killing me.

Now, I know it could turn out to be a mess. Everything is being put to a vote, from who the coach and players will be to the game-day strategy. Weekly fiascos probably will ensue. But I don't really give a shit.

The idea of owning part of something so real is just enthralling to me. The notion that I can say that the guys I'm wactching are literally "my team" sends my heart aflutter. Not to mention that this demonstrates my point of the great unifying nature of sports. People from all over the world have sent in their money already.

And it's not too late if anybody else wants to join. Check out http://www.myfootballclub.co.uk/
I salivate at the thought of co-owning a team with my friends. Seriously, it costs less than a 100 bucks.

Das Fed

On Monday, a client took a plea bargain at the last minute, relating to various drug and gun charges the U.S. Attorney's office had brought against him. My co-counsel and I are figuring that he's probably looking at between 25 and 30 years when he's sentenced. Now what might prompt a 30-year old man to take the all that time, rather than roll the dice at trial?

Well, early last week, the actual U.S. Attorney, i.e. the one appointed by the president, sent notice to my co-counsel that the government would be seeking a sentence enhancement in the case. If convicted, my client would be looking at a mandatory minimum of life. The reasoning offered was that the U.S. Attorney wanted to start sending a strong message to those who sold crack cocaine.

My client's black. I know a lot has been written about the race and class implications of the Federal Sentencing Guidelines when it comes to drugs, and I'm not even going to bother adding my redundant voice to that, except to say something even more worn. It's always difficult to actually witness an inequity about which one has spent considerable time studying and reading. So, as a way of therapy, I'm going to ask that anyone who has had a similar situation and feeling to the above, leave a comment. As my mom says, misery loves company.

Don't Pet Sweaty Things: Tom Snyder, 1935-2007

Radio and television personality Tom Snyder died of complications arising from his battle with leukemia Sunday, according to reports in Monday's news. Snyder is most remembered as the host of NBC's "The Tommorrow Show," which this writer is unfortunately too young to have viewed. Luckily, I did have the chance to see his return to television in 1995 when he began a few year stint as the host of the "The Late, Late Show," and instantly I was captured.

Snyder ran a show different from most on during those hours. There was no live studio audience. He would sit in front of a backdrop of Los Angeles and just talk to the camera, which would pan in so close that the viewer could clearly see Tom had been a smoker for quite a number of years. The discussion ranged from the news to the latest Hollywood gossip, from the earth-shattering to the trivial. But whatever it was, Snyder covered it in such a way that you felt as if you were having a conversation with your best friend. He was funy, serious, mischevious, intelligent, and just what a great entertainer should be.

What also set him apart from many of the monkeys on late night was that he could also fucking interview. What some (cough...Jay Leno...cough) don't understand is that in order to really make an interview worthwhile to watch is that you have to listen to the answers which come our of your subject's mouth. It sounds basic but so many people just don't do this. Fortunately, Snyder did. He also demonstrated his genius by having the person sit a couple of feet away with nothing in between them. The setting was certainly more intimate, and the results were terrific. His rewardwas to score some big ones: John Lennon, Charles Manson, and Johnny Rotten.

He didn't last long on national t.v. in the 1990's, just 3-4 years. His product was as distinctive as his laugh, but it was probably also his undoing. In a time where people want to think less and less about what they consume through their eyeballs, Snyder's show no doubt commanded too much from Joe Schmoe. Too bad. CBS replaced him with Craig Kilborn and a traditional late-night set. Blech. Oh well, maybe one of his old, smoldering butts will burn the place down.

"Fire up a colortini, sit back, relax, and watch the pictures, now, as they fly through the air."